‘That depends,’ he said. ‘On what lies beyond enticement.’
She lowered her gaze, the sweep of black lashes feathering against the pallor of her cheek.
‘Venetia.’ Her name was soft and smooth as silk upon his lips, the intimacy of it making her remember the feel of those lips upon hers.
‘Linwood...’
‘Not Linwood,’ he said softly and, reaching across, skimmed the pad of his thumb against her cheek in a single caress. ‘My given name is Francis.’
She scanned those dark eyes, feeling the butterflies fluttering madly in her stomach. ‘Given names are for families and close friends, and for lovers.’
‘And what are we, Venetia?’ There was a blunt honesty to the question that seemed to reach within and touch her.
She hesitated to reply, only held his eyes, not with bold seduction and power, but seeing something of the man beneath. ‘I do not know.’ All the madness that was rushing through her blood, the fast hard pound of her heart, the way her body came alive beneath his touch, his kiss. ‘You are not what I expected.’
‘And what was it that you expected?’ he asked softly.
She reached her hands up, cupping them gently against the strong hard lines of his jaw, holding him there. ‘Not this,’ she whispered and placed her mouth against his in soft surrender. ‘Never this.’
She kissed him gently, cautiously, afraid that the kiss would not be all that she remembered and even more afraid that the memory was true. Their lips teased together, touching, tasting, feeling, while their eyes clung together. And then his mouth moved to take hers and she knew that her memory had not played her false. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the kiss, and to him, yielding to the madness that was thrumming through her veins.
The scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of him, stripped away all of her pretence. He kissed her and the woman that met his kisses with passion and with need was all Venetia. Something in her sparked to life, something real, something that only he could fire. He was in her blood, in her heart, in her mind. She drank him in, revelling in the sensation, sinking into it, opening herself, allowing all her defences to crumble. Venetia had been kissed by men before, but not like this, never like this. It made her forget herself, made her forget who she was, who he was. There was only him, only this moment, only his mouth on hers, wooing and demanding both at once, firing a passion that only he awakened, and the overwhelming need for him.
She kissed him harder, faster, with all the rage of urgency that was surging through her. He pulled her into his arms and her body answered the call of his, cleaving to him, wanting him so much that it hurt. Her mind was spinning, her body quivering beneath the masterful caress of his hands upon her back, her breasts, her waist, her hips. She was breathless, reeling, dizzy with desire. The last thread of sanity dangled dangerously close to breaking. She placed her hands on his chest and broke her mouth free from his.
His eyes were black as the devil’s and just as dangerous. Their gazes clung together, their breaths hard and fast, her breasts brushing his chest with every rise and fall.
‘Do you see?’ she whispered, staring into his eyes. She held him tight, knowing that were she to let go she would fall into this thing that was yawning between them.
‘I do,’ he said. His voice sounded as breathless as hers and he stroked a hand against her hair.
She was not acting. She was not playing a game. This felt more real than any other thing in her life. And much more powerful. She struggled to hold on to the vestiges of control, forcing herself to think of Robert, of Rotherham, and the fact that Linwood had put a bullet through Rotherham’s head. She pulled herself free of him, knowing that all the while he touched her she could not think straight. She felt breathless, shaken, shocked by how much she wanted him. It felt more than physical, it was every aspect of him that drew her to him. And the more she came to know him did not dissuade her as it should, but, in contrast, served only to attract her all the more. It took every ounce of her willpower to draw the veil of Miss Fox over her and stop this before it went too far; all of her years of acting experience to feign a control and calmness she did not feel.
‘I think that is quite enough stargazing for one night, Lord Linwood,’ she said in something of Miss Fox’s cool voice and got to her feet. But there was a breathlessness to her words that she could not completely disguise and inside her chest her heart was racing and her blood was rushing, and every part of her longed for every part of him. And Linwood looked at her with those dark dangerous eyes as if he knew.
* * *
Linwood glanced around the ballroom the next night at the members of the ton who mingled with the demi-monde
in this world of fashion and frippery, without seeing them. He was thinking of Venetia and what had passed between them in the glasshouse. She had revealed something of her true self. Although she was a talented actress he had seen enough of her to tell the difference between when she was acting and when she was not. And he did not think that last night had been about acting. Last night there had been a vulnerability to her, an honesty, a degree of trust, in revealing those parts of herself that she kept hidden. She seemed genuinely shocked and confused by the searing attraction that existed between them, as if that had not been a part of the plan, if indeed there was anything of a plan between her and Clandon. The way she had looked at him as she uttered those words, a look that was nothing of artifice but open and real. You are not what I expected. He had thought of it all the night through. She was not what he had expected. None of this was what he had expected. He wondered what she would do were he just to confront her over Clandon, but he knew he could not risk tipping off Rotherham’s son that he was wise to him, not when there was so very much at stake. And so he must play this game every bit as much as her—to control Clandon’s suspicions, and because he was fascinated, and more, by the woman who was Venetia Fox.
‘You are woolgathering, Lord Linwood.’ Venetia’s voice broke his reverie.
‘Caught in the act,’ he replied.
‘In such a calculated gentleman? I do not think so.’ Her lips curved ever so slightly in that small half smile, and her eyes were teasing. The open emotions of last night were gone. She was once more the seductive Miss Fox.
‘I take issue with your estimate as to my character.’
‘You should not.’ She leaned closer as if confiding a secret, and he could smell the bittersweet scent of her perfume with its hints of the exotic and erotic. The scent of it was still upon last night’s tailcoat hanging within his wardrobe. ‘I like calculation in a man.’
‘Really?’ he asked quietly and held her gaze steadily. ‘It did not seem that way last night, Venetia.’
He saw the faintest tinge of colour touch her cheeks and something falter in her eyes before she glanced away.
And when she looked at him again there was an iron resolve in her face. ‘Let us go in to supper.’
He glanced across at the queue that was forming to go in for supper.
She raised an eyebrow. Her eyes were cool, almost challenging, but her mouth was sultry. ‘I had a little private table set up for us in the conservatory.’
‘I am privileged indeed.’
‘More than you realise, Linwood,’ she whispered in a voice that was like the sensuous stroke of silk and let him take her arm.
Together they left the main ballroom and headed into the adjoining conservatory. The doors were not closed and the piano still played, its soft lilt carrying through from the ballroom. Anyone might stroll in, if they so chose, but the plants and bushes and trailing vines, some of which were made of silk, lent the room a private secluded air, even if it was all of an illusion. And amidst all of the plants, by the side of a small fountain from which water ran in a lulling trickle, a small, round cast-iron table had been set for two. A large silver ice bucket sat in a s
tand by its side and contained within was a bottle of champagne. In the middle of the table, beside a silver casting of cockerel, was an opened bottle of claret.
She took her seat and only when she was settled did he take his. A footman appeared and poured first her champagne and then his, before disappearing as silently as he had arrived.
He ignored the champagne and lifted the claret, pouring two half-glasses and offering one to her.
She accepted with a smile, a genuine smile of amusement this time.
‘Why do you order champagne, Venetia, when you do not drink it?’
‘You are very observant. No one else ever notices.’
‘Another part of the illusion?’
‘One cannot have an actress who does not drink champagne.’
‘Imagine the scandal if you were to demand tea instead.’
She laughed and he smiled, and the initial awkwardness of their meeting was gone, replaced with the affinity that was growing between them.
‘A toast to new friends,’ she said and held up her glass.
‘To new friends,’ he echoed and they chinked their two glasses in a touch, the fine crystal glasses lingering together too long before finally parting. Their eyes met across the table and held as they each drank the claret.
A footman’s approach interrupted the moment. Linwood saw the fleeting expression of horror that crossed Venetia’s face at the servant’s whispered words. But then it was reined under her usual smooth control once more. The footman faded.
She got to her feet.
And he to his.
‘I am afraid I must leave you for this evening, my lord. My presence is required elsewhere.’
‘Bad news?’
‘Yes.’ She did not elaborate. She held out her hand for him to kiss and he took it in his own as if that was what he meant to do. But he did not kiss it.
‘Let me come with you.’ No matter how transient it had been, he had seen that look of horror and he felt a genuine concern at what might have caused it. He wondered if Clandon was blackmailing her.
She smiled and shook her head, withdrawing her hand and turning away to leave as she did so. ‘Thank you for your offer, but I must refuse.’
He said nothing more. Just stood there as she began to walk away. Three steps, three soft wiggles of those hips and then she stopped, hesitated for a moment as if thinking, before glancing back at him.
‘It is a matter of some discretion. A...secret,’ she said.
‘I am good at secrets.’
‘You are,’ she admitted.
The silence stretched between them. Still she did not walk away.
Finally she relented. ‘I would be glad of your company, Linwood.’
He felt a stab of both satisfaction and relief at her words.
Their leaving together when the night was so young did not go unnoticed. There were whispers and stares, but if Venetia was conscious of them she did not show it. She did not hurry across the ballroom, but he could sense her focus, her purpose, and he admired how smoothly and quickly she dealt with those who would have delayed her. Then they were out in the hallway, the footman delivering her cloak, which Linwood slid into place, and out of the door and into her waiting carriage.
The coachman seemed to know where to go even though she had not issued him with any instructions. The door closed behind them and they were off at a brisk pace, heading in the opposite direction to that which would lead them to the house in which Venetia Fox had made her home.
Chapter Nine
‘What you see tonight, Linwood...the place to which we are going... My association with them is not widely known and I would prefer it remain that way.’ Venetia’s eyes held his.
‘None shall hear of it from me.’
‘Thank you.’ She withdrew her gaze, shifting it to stare out at the dark shadowed buildings past which they rushed. There was a tiny furrow between her brows, as if she were preoccupied with concern.
She did not speak again. And neither did he.
The street lamps revealed enough to show him the direction they travelled. They journeyed on, leaving behind the wealth and elegance of Upper Grosvenor Street, travelling through the heart of the city and heading east through the banking area, rushing onwards until the streets narrowed and became more pot-holed, and the houses that lined the streets were the crowded slums of Whitechapel. Little wonder the celebrated Miss Fox had asked for discretion. Such surroundings were not conducive to her sparkle and glamour. He wondered just where the hell they were going and in what she was enmeshed. And for the second time that night he thought of Clandon.
The carriage slowed quite suddenly and halted outside a building that looked as dismal as the rest.
‘We have arrived,’ she said and pulled the deep black hood of her cloak to cover her head.
He could smell the stench of poverty in the street even before the footman opened the carriage door.
Part of Venetia wondered at the risk she was taking at bringing Linwood here, but another part felt it was the right thing to do. Yielding confidences. Winning his trust. She justified his presence as part of the game, but the truth was she was glad of having him with her to face this. And if he did speak of this night and betray her, then there was nothing so very much to be lost. No one could prove anything through the association. Her secrets would still be safe. She did not glance back at him, just walked on, knowing that he would follow.
The windows at street level that overlooked the pavement had been smashed. Great shards of glass lay like spun sugar across the pavement. She heard the crunch of some crumbs of it before Linwood took her arm, steering her free of it.
‘The glass will pierce your slippers,’ he murmured.
There was no need to rap on the knocker, for the door had been kicked in, the fresh gouges raw and pale in the darkness of the door frame. Venetia used the knocker anyway, giving two light taps, before pushing the door open.
‘Oh, Miss Fox!’ Lily’s face was white, the lines of worry etched clear upon it. ‘Thank God you’re here! Sadie said we shouldn’t disturb you till morning, but the door is busted and the windows, too, and I didn’t know what else to do!’
‘You did the right thing in sending for me,’ she reassured Lily.
As they moved through the hall into the little parlour Venetia stopped and stared around her at the room that was barely recognisable. The furniture had been thrown around, the curtains torn from their poles, the pictures upon the walls and ornaments that had made this place a home smashed and broken.
‘What happened?’
Lily shook her head. ‘It was like this when I got back. Whoever they were, they knew where to find the money. It’s gone. All of it.’
Venetia glanced at the surrounding devastation. The door creaked as the wind played against it and pushed within. The room was freezing, the grate black and dead with burnt-out ashes.
‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘Sadie. She was the only one here. The rest of the girls were out. Still are.’
‘Where is Sadie now?’
‘Upstairs in her room.’ Lily’s mouth tightened.
‘How bad is it?’ Venetia felt her stomach tighten with dread.
Lily’s eyes slid to Linwood, as if only noticing him standing in the background for the first time, and then back to Venetia. Venetia saw the question in them and felt a frisson of guilt that she had brought him into this place of safety.
‘He is trustworthy.’ Her eyes met Linwood’s across the room and, contrary to everything that she knew of him, it felt like the truth. Her heart gave a little spur at the admission, before she turned back to Lily.
Lily did not look persuaded, but she gave Venetia a nod. ‘The animals took the goods by force and without paying, if you catch my drift. All four of t
hem.’
Venetia felt herself blanch. ‘Have you called the doctor?’
Lily shook her head. ‘She won’t see one.’
Venetia struggled to mask the horror from her face and the nausea that was swimming in her stomach. And then Linwood was by her side, his hand upon her arm, both reassuring and strengthening. ‘Go to her. I will do what needs to be done down here.’
She hesitated, uneasy at leaving him down here alone, and afraid of what she would find upstairs.
‘She needs you, Venetia,’ he said.
She nodded, knowing he was right, and with a glance at Lily slipped away.
Sadie’s physical hurts were minor, but Venetia knew that, however much Sadie told her she was all right, the mental scars of what had happened tonight would never leave her. It was the risk that every woman who sold herself ran, the nightmare which they all feared. But even though the nightmare had become a reality for Sadie, Venetia knew it would not stop the girl from selling herself again at some point in the future. It was why this house existed. It was the little she could do. She stayed with Sadie until there was a knock at the door and Lily appeared with a doctor.
‘Your gentleman friend insisted upon it. Supplied the geld up front, too.’
* * *
It was the start of a very long night. Looking back at it, Venetia wondered how she could have got through it without Linwood by her side. They worked together, side by side with the women who returned, wearing their skirts short enough to show the red-flannel petticoats beneath. Sweeping up glass and destruction, fixing what they could. Linwood left and when he returned he had a team of joiners in tow, although God only knew where he had found them at this time at night. And in the lateness of the night they boarded the windows and patched up the front door.
* * *
Dawn was crawling across the sky, diluting the inky darkness in ever-lightening hues by the time Venetia and Linwood eventually left. The streets were empty, the rumble and roll of her carriage wheels loud in the silence.
Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Never Trust a RakeDicing With the Dangerous LordA Daring Liaison Page 34